


One Day in Osney

by LadyAJ_13



Series: One Time in Oxfordshire [5]
Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Cats, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Morse-era, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Inspector Shirley Trewlove pays Inspector Morse a visit... and she's brought a little friend.





	One Day in Osney

**Author's Note:**

> I've somehow written Inspector Morse fanfic when I've only ever seen one episode...? I'm sorry if everything is totally wrong! Tagged with Lewis and Endeavour fandoms because they're the shows I've seen and the characterisation I've used, we're just set (time-wise) in Morse era.

Robbie pushes open the office door absent-mindedly, juggling a set of files and brain still whirring over the latest case, even though Morse has abandoned him to pursue enquiries of his own. He stops short.

An attractive blonde woman, late forties (if he had to guess) and dressed in a dark grey power-suit, is sitting in his chair.

“Hello,” he starts, one hand still on the door handle. “Can I help you?”

She looks him up and down, and he gets the impression she's divined more with a single look than most would with a half hour interview. He lets go of the door and twitches the knot of his tie straight.

“I'm waiting for Morse.”

“Inspector Morse is out on enquiries,” Robbie says, and she hums, amused.

“Aren't you his sergeant? Shouldn't you be doing those for him?”

He closes the door and perches on the edge of Morse's desk, for lack of a place to sit. He can't imagine taking Morse's chair, although it might call up the man himself, through some dark power, and relieve him of that strangely penetrating, entertained gaze. “I'm afraid we can't let civilians-” She pulls out a badge and smoothly lets it drop open: _Detective Inspector Trewlove, Scotland Yard._

“I'm in town and we used to work together. Thought I'd pop in and say hello.”

“Oh, I'm – sorry, Inspector. Drink?” She narrows her gaze, and he rushes to clarify, “tea, coffee? Might be able to rustle up a lemonade.”

“Tea,” she smiles. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Twenty minutes later, she sets the mug down on the desk, and Robbie looks up from the notes he's not really been able to concentrate on. She picks up her handbag and stands, straightening her blazer. “Let him know I dropped by? I'm staying at the Royal Oxford.”

“Of course marm.”

– 

“I was right, the cash robbery was all a distraction.” Morse blows into the room, trailing his jacket behind him. “The real-” he sits down and cuts himself off. Robbie looks up from the witness statements he'd taken that morning. “Lewis.” Morse reaches underneath his desk and pulls out a wicker basket, which he deposits on top and stares at. “Why is there a cat in my office?”

Robbie stands, and moves round to peer over Morse's shoulder. The basket holds a small ginger and white kitten behind a metal grille, scrubbing its face with a paw.

“Well, I never! Who's been a quiet office mate?” Morse, spectacularly unimpressed, glares at him and Robbie attempts to gather his professionalism. “Sorry sir, you had a visitor-”

“Its not yours?!”

“No, I don't do cats.” He pokes a finger through the front of the cage in direct contradiction, but the kitten ignores it, settling into a sleepy pile with a tiny meow.

“You let a visitor leave an unidentified package-”

“It's a kitten, sir-”

“It could have been a bomb!”

They both look at the carrier. “It wasn't though, was it.”

“The principle-”

“Besides, she was a police officer, so I guess I didn't think there was anything to worry about.”

“That's your _problem_, Lewis, you don't think.” Morse stares at the cat for a while, deep in thought. The cat stares back. “She?”

“An Inspector Trewlove, sir, of Scotland Yard. Said she was a friend of yours?”

“Inspector,” he murmurs. “Good. Right, well get your coat Lewis, we have a cat to return. I assume she left an address?”

“Got it here sir.”

“Good. We'll pop in on Lockley on the way back, I want to talk to him again about this so-called visitor of his...”

– 

The hotel room door swings open to reveal Inspector Trewlove. She's taken off her shoes and stands just a couple of inches shorter than Morse. She'd been perfectly nice at the station, once she got the measure of him, but now, Robbie sees, he'd been treated to polite friendliness. Looking at Morse, she softens. Disconcertingly, Morse softens right back.

“Shirley, long time no see.”

“Morse. You're looking...” she trails off, and Morse shrugs.

“You're looking like an Inspector, so Lewis tells me.” She nods and waves them both in. Robbie slips into the desk chair, out of the way, and tucks the cat carrier into a nook underneath. He fiddles with the clasp to open it, and the kitten streaks out to investigate its new territory. Trewlove crosses her legs in the armchair, watching Morse take the edge of the bed.

“For a few years now.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, before: “Dr DeBryn called, he said you were looking... tired.”

Morse scoffs. “Who isn't? But Max is my friend, not yours-”

“Which is why he called, I imagine.” The kitten wanders back into the room from the bathroom, and starts batting at Morse's shoelaces. His leg twitches.

“I'm fine.”

“Right.” Trewlove's face is every inch the copper not buying what the suspect is saying. Robbie wonders exactly when they knew each other, because Trewlove seems to the type to walk all over Morse, but she carefully doesn’t, treading the line close but not crossing it. Maybe Morse was her boss? “Look, she's from a case. We got the rest re-homed but she needed spaying first and-”

“Your boarding house not allow animals, is that it?” They both smile; a private joke.

“More like my husband would have to move out if she moved in. Allergies.”

Morse hums. “Lot of that about, if I remember rightly.”

“Never been your issue though.” Trewlove rifles through the complimentary tea and coffee station, but Morse waves away a drink when she flicks the kettle on. She throws a packet of biscuits at him instead, which he fumbles and then rescues from atop the kitten. After a beat, she quirks an eyebrow at Robbie and tosses the second packet to him with a grin at his too-quick nod. He opens it. It's shortbread, and they hadn't stopped for lunch.

“She needs a home.”

“Oh, London doesn’t have the RSPCA? Marvellous charity they have here in Oxford. I can give you directions.”

“Morse.”

“I'm not a stray cat sanctuary!”

Trewlove ignores him as she pours just-boiled water over a teabag. “Worked out well the last time, didn't it?”

What last time? thought Robbie.

“That was years ago.”

“I know.” Trewlove gently scoops the kitten up from her place at Morse's shoes, and instead sets her gently on his lap. “I called her May.”

One hand comes down, unbidden, and begins a rhythmic stroke. “I don't want a pet.”

Trewlove smiles. “You never do. But you'll take her anyway. She hated the train, I can't make her do a return trip.”

To his surprise, Robbie actually thinks Morse might be giving in, his fingers now ruffling in the fur, purr starting to rumble in the small cat's throat.

“I've got a case to work-”

“She'll be fine. Leave her with me for the afternoon, pick her up this evening.”

Robbie's not actually sure anything has been decided, but obviously the other two think it has, because Trewlove walks them to the door. She nods to Robbie, his mouth still full of biscuit, before catching Morse by the hand. “Drinks, tonight? Eight?” Robbie swallows, watching in astonishment as Morse nods, almost shy, and squeezes that hand like its some kind of code. He looks away as Trewlove pecks Morse on the cheek. “See you then.”

Out of deference to Morse's prickly nature, he waits until the door is firmly closed and they're halfway down the corridor. “So who is she, really?”

“Shirley? Last name of Trewlove, police officer by trade. She came by the station earlier and you made her tea in my mug.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Just an old friend.”

Robbie grins; he's been around long enough that he knows what that means, when it comes to Morse. Especially when it comes in a pretty package. “Bit more than that though, right?” he asks, just restraining himself from a friendly elbow jab that would no doubt be poorly received.

“No, Lewis.” Morse glares at him so strongly, Robbie's step falters. He covers it by calling the lift. “Not like that.”

It's a strong indication to let it go. Still, he's surprised that evening, when Morse sends him off home at seven rather than pushing the case into the small hours. Val is too, and he gives the kids a bath and reads them a story before bed, which he's not been able to do in weeks. A glass of wine and a home-cooked meal later, and he wonders why every night can't be like this. Curled up on the sofa with a sitcom and the one he loves. 

He is even more surprised the next day, when Morse shows up at nine AM, seemingly well-rested, with toast crumbs and orange cat hair on his jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure the Royal Oxford hotel is technically in Osney (an area of Oxford), but if not, it is at least Osney adjacent and I needed a place name to work with my theme for this new series (my first ever!) – I've rather painted myself into a corner with it. Let's say Morse and Shirley walked that way for their evening drink. Also because what was the top Google image for Osney? A cute ginger and white cat. It was fate.
> 
> The eagle-eyed among you might notice references to my other Morse cat fic, Maurice (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001967) - check it out if you like Endeavour and cats :)


End file.
